Love and Other Fairytales
by jtav
Summary: Harry learns Luna knows something about Horcruxes, and her price for the information is that Harry keep in touch. He soon learns that not all enemies can be fought and even Luna has secrets.
1. The Bargain

Author's note: Several people asked me to continue "Once Upon a Dream." After thinking about it, I've decided to do so and then some. This story is a much darker, novel length version that contains everything I couldn't put in the fest version. Because this is a "director's cut" some passages are the same, especially in the beginning.

* * *

I don't understand why you keep that thing," Ron said. "Don't get me wrong; if anyone's got a right to the locket, it's you, but it's worthless."

Hermione crossed her arms. "I agree. It's morbid for you to carry that thing around."

Harry didn't say anything and sat down under the nearest tree. Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him. It was good for him to hold onto the locket, no matter what they said. R.A.B—whoever he was—had died putting it in the cave. Dumbledore had almost died, trying to remove it. He kept it to remember why he was still willing to risk his life. Two men had already died hunting Horcruxes, and he wouldn't let their sacrifices be in vain.

The sun hung low in the sky, turning the lake a dull shade of orange. A warm breeze ruffled his hair. This was the last night before the summer holidays and their last night at Hogwarts at all. Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed to be the only students not safely tucked away in their dormitories. The evening was unnaturally silent and still. Even the birds and insects were silent. It was as if Hogwarts itself mourned Dumbledore's death.

No one spoke for a long time until Hermione said, "Shouldn't we be going back? We're supposed to be in the common room in twenty minutes. You know how Filch gets when he catches students out of bed."

Ron snorted. "What's Filch going to do? Give us detention?" He sobered. "Though I have to admit, detention sounds a lot better than Horcrux hunting."

"You can still turn back, you know. Dumbledore only said I had to do it. He didn't say anything about either of you." Despite his words, Harry didn't want them to stay away. He had only just gotten used to the idea that he wouldn't have to undertake his quest alone, and he didn't want to go back.

Ron shook his head. "No! We said we'd be with you whatever happens, and we meant it. No matter how bad it gets, we'll be there for you. Isn't that right, Hermione?" Hermione nodded vigorously, and Harry felt a strange tightness in his chest.

"Yes, Harry. You ought to know by now that friends don't abandon each other." Harry looked up sharply. The voice was so soft that he might have imagined it, except he could now see Luna perched on one of the thicker branches, watching them with an expression of concern and what might have been shock. "Be very careful. Horcruxes are dangerous."

Harry couldn't do anything but stare at her. They had tried so hard to keep their plans a secret. No one else could know. It was too dangerous for anyone to accompany them, and the Death Eaters would certainly track down and torture those who might have information on his mission. He hadn't even told Ginny exactly what they were going to do. And now it was all for nothing. He glared at Ron and turned back to Luna. Maybe he could salvage this. He had to. "You, er, know how Horcruxes are. Fierce little buggers who bite your hand off. There's some in the garden of my house. We're going to hunt them down over the holidays. Aren't we?" Hermione made noises of agreement, but Ron stood, terrified, until Harry surreptitiously kicked him in the shin.

Luna smiled slightly, though her eyes were strangely hard. "You are a very bad liar, Harry. Besides, I know what Horcruxes are."

"Do you, now?" Hermione asked. Harry looked at her and thought he knew where this was going. Maybe it wasn't a terrible thing that Luna had overheard him. They knew very little about Horcuxes. If Luna knew more, she could help them, or at least tell them where to look for more information.

"Yes. They're an object you put a piece of your soul in to keep from dying." Her voice was very soft. "They can only be created by murder."

Ron scowled. "I don't suppose you know anything else? Say, something we hadn't already figured out for ourselves?"

"No. My mother might have. She died because of a Horcrux."

"What?" the three of them said at once.

She shoved her hands in her pockets. "The spell she was working on was something to track or count them. I think she must have made a arithmantical error and..." she trailed off and looked at Harry. "You know what happened next."

"Yeah, I do." Harry thought to keep the excitement out of his voice. A spell to track Horcruxes was more than he could have ever dreamed of. He could pinpoint their location without running all over England. He'd be able to find the real locket and make Dumbledore's and R.A.B's deaths count for something after all. They might be home by Christmas. "Do you still have your Mum's notes? Hermione's a genius at Arithmancy. I'll bet she could get it to work."

Hermione flushed with pleasure, but Luna looked vaguely ill. "So was Mum. It killed her, Harry. Why are you looking for Horcruxes? Does it have something to do with the war?"

Hermione stepped forward. "You-Know-Who made Horcruxes. That's how he was able to come back to life. We need to find them all before he can die forever. The longer it takes, the more innocent people will be killed. Maybe that spell of your mother's could help us find them faster. I'll have her notes, so I shouldn't make the same mistake she did. It won't kill me."

Luna bowed her head. Harry had never seen her like this, nor had he even known she could be like this. She was odd, true, but she was always cheerful and certain. And now she wasn't. It was almost enough to make him tell her to forget it. Almost.

Finally, she looked up. "I'll give you the notes, Harry, but I want you to promise me something, first."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "And what would that be?"

Luna bit her lip. The wind blew a strand of hair into her face. Harry had a brief, irrational urge to brush it away. "Will you write to me? Horcruxes are deadly. Neville, Ginny, and I will worry about you. Well, Neville and Ginny won't know what you're doing, but I'm sure they'll worry."

"Are you in—" Ron threw up his hands. "It's not like we can send you letters through the Owl Post!"

Luna ignored Ron and took Harry's hand in hers. "That's my price. I don't expect three feet of parchment every day. Just promise me you'll try to find some way to keep in touch every now and again." Her eyes lost their dreamy expression, and Harry felt the tightness in his chest intensify. "Please. You should have someone who isn't on a quest to talk to. It keeps things cheerful."

"I... I promise I'll try." He squeezed her hand. "But you have to promise me something else, too. You can't tell anyone what you've heard. Ever. Not Ginny. Not your dad. If anyone ever finds out you know, the Death Eaters will torture and kill you without a second thought."

Luna didn't flinch. "I promise I won't tell anyone of your quest." She brightened suddenly and dropped his hand. "Thank you, and good night." And with that, she walked in the direction of the castle, humming a bad version of "Odo the Hero," as if the last five minutes had never happened. Harry watched her go. Just as she was about to vanish from view, she turned back. "And Harry," she said with a smile, "you should definitely keep the locket."

The three of them watched her go. When she had vanished from sight, Ron whistled. "Is it just me, or does Luna seem more, well, loony than usual?"

Hermione frowned. "She did seem rather upset. I'd love to know how her mother knew so much about Horcruxes."

Harry didn't say anything. He wondered too, but he wasn't sure he would like the answer.

* * *

Harry didn't see or discuss Luna again until two days after he had arrived at the Burrow. He scarcely saw Ron and Hermione. Mrs. Weasley seemed to sense that something was up and kept them all preparing for the upcoming wedding—separately. Ron had been dispatched to sort presents, while Hermione helped with the laundry. Harry himself was degnoming the garden. He didn't quite get the point. The blighters would be back well before the wedding, and he'd only have to throw them out again. Still, Mrs. Weasley had asked and so he was out here. Harry picked up the nearest gnome, swung it around and threw. It sailed into the distance. One down, a billion to go.

"Nice toss," said a voice behind him. "Maybe you should have gone out for Keeper."

Harry turned. Ginny leaned against a nearby outcropping of rock, her Nimbus 2002 lying at her feet. The breeze swirled around her, but she seemed heedless to how flyaway it was making her hair. Her skin was darker than usual, her freckles having almost faded against her newfound tan. She looked the very picture of the modern sporting witch: young, vital, and ready to win the cup for England at a moment's notice. A familiar feeling clawed in his chest. Sometimes it was difficult to remember why he had broken up with Ginny.

He forced himself to keep his tone casual. "Try Beater. You wouldn't think a gnome would be that heavy, and Bludgers don't bite."

"No, they just crack your skull." She took a deep breath. "Luna wanted me to tell you that she has what you asked for and that it's at her house. What's this about? She wouldn't tell me anything. Said you were sworn to secrecy."

"I did," said Harry shortly. "War business. It's too dangerous for you." He wasn't stupid. If the Death Eaters even thought Ginny knew anything, she would be the first one they targeted. It was his job to protect her, and the best way he could do that was by keeping her in the dark.

"Like fighting at the Department of Mysteries and Hogwarts was too dangerous?"

"If it had been up to me, I would have gone to the Ministry by myself." He ran his fingers through his hair. Why couldn't she see he was only trying to do what was best? "You're the one who broke her leg almost as soon as she got there. The only reason you didn't die a month ago was because of the Felix, and I'm fresh out."

Ginny flinched as if he'd slapped her. Her face was as cold and hard as a freshly-carved ice sculpture. The last time he'd seen that look, Zacharias Smith had ended up in the hospital wing for two weeks. He'd never thought to see it directed at him. "I see. Poor little Ginny needs protecting. I'm not eleven anymore. You don't always need to rescue me."

Oh. Harry closed the gap between them and tilted Ginny's chin up. She didn't move to retreat or slap him, and he could see himself reflected in her eyes. "Sorry. I know you can take care of yourself. It's just... you're special to me, and I couldn't take it if anything happened to you." He thought this was the part where he was supposed to say 'I love you', but he couldn't quite get the words out. Hopefully, Ginny would understand.

They stood like that for a long time, not speaking. Finally, Ginny closed her eyes and sighed. "Someday, you'll have to tell me all your secrets."

"Someday," Harry agreed. "This one's a bit of a moot point, though. I don't have a way to get to Luna, and your Mum's watching me like a hawk."

Ginny thought for a moment. She stepped back, picked up her broom, and held it out to him. "You can take this. It's not a Firebolt, but it will get you there."

Harry blinked. Ginny had gotten the Nimbus for her last birthday, as a reward for winning the Quidditch Cup. It was the most expensive thing she owned. He had never seen it dirty or in anything less than peak condition. And she was letting him borrow it? "I thought you were sore at me?"

"Oh, I am. I can get back at you after you defeat You-Know-Who. This is a bit more important." She smiled, but she looked more like a dog baring its teeth than something friendly. "And this isn't the first time you've been a complete idiot. I got over that, too."

Harry knew what she meant. He could almost hear the words _Lucky you_ echo through the air. "Any idea how I can distract Mrs. Weasley long enough to get away?"

Before Ginny could answer, there was an explosion somewhere in the distance. Harry whipped his head around. Were they under attack? He reached into his pocket to draw his wand.

Ginny put a restraining hand on his arm. "Easy." Her smile turned genuine. "It's just your distraction. I 'borrowed' one of Fred and George's new firework prototypes. Mum should be noticing it any moment now."

And sure enough, Harry heard the faint but unmistakable sound of Mrs. Weasley shrieking. He stared slack-jawed at Ginny. She had planned everything he would need to get to Luna before she'd even come to find him. He'd never figure out how she had managed it. "Thank you."

"Consider it an early birthday present. It was either this or—" She blushed. "Never mind. Luna's house is about three miles to the northwest. You'll know it when you see it. Now hurry up. Mum's bound to figure out what's going on eventually."

Harry mounted the broom and took off. It had been months since he'd simply flown, without anyone trying to kill him. He'd thought he'd never get the chance again. This was a better present than anything Ginny could have given him. The Nimbus wasn't his Firebolt, but it was still a real racing broom. He looked down. The hills surrounding Ottery St. Catchpole were deserted for as far as he could see. It couldn't hurt to have a little fun. He whooped, sailed higher, and executed an impromptu figure eight. He whooped. God, he would miss this.

Five minutes later, a tall black tower appeared in the distance. This could only be the Lovegood house. The stone was perfectly round and smooth, so that the house could have been constructed only by magic, and there was an air of harmless strangeness about the place they Harry recognized as distinctly Lovegood. He set down a little past a broken-down gate. If it was rude to Apparate directly to someone's house, it must be equally rude to land on their doorstep. Harry propped Ginny's broom against the low wall and set off toward the house.

The path zigzagged in what felt like eight different directions on its way to the front door. The edges were ragged. A number of odd plants grew on either side, including a bush covered in the orange, radishlike fruit Luna sometimes wore as earrings, and were only kept in check by some truly heroic gardening. Harry thought he recognized a Snargalpuff and gave the stump a wide berth. Two aged apple trees, bent with wind and time and in full flower with bushy crowns of white-beaded mistletoe, stood sentinel on either side of the front door, and a peevish-looking owl with a hawklike head stared down at him from one of the branches. The door was studded with iron nails and bore a knocker shaped like an eagle. And he thought he was proud of his house. Harry suppressed a smile and knocked three times.

The door swung open a few moments later. "Hello, Harry," Luna said brightly. "I see Ginny delivered my message. Would you like to come inside?" She wore scarlet and plum robes that escaped being gaudy mostly because she was the one wearing them, and Harry had come to expect nothing less. Well, that, and the scarlet complemented her hair nicely.

Harry nodded, and Luna stepped back to allow him to enter. He found himself standing in the most peculiar kitchen he had ever seen. The room was perfectly circular, so that it felt like being inside a giant pepper pot. Everything was curved to fit the walls—the stove, the sink and the cupboards—and all of it had been painted with flowers, insects, and birds in bright primary colors. Harry looked from them to Luna's robes and back again. There was decidedly something of her style about them.

Luna noticed his staring. "Do you like them? I painted most of them just after we moved here, when I was ten. I can do more accurate pictures now, but these are still quite charming."

Harry thought overwhelming would have described them better than charming, but it seemed impolite to say so. "I didn't know you painted," he said at last.

"Ever since I was a child. Drawing, too, easy. I just completed a really big project in my room, if you'd like to see." She led him up two flights of a spiral staircase that twisted upward and inward like an Escher painting. Harry was indifferent to whatever her "project" might be, but Ginny had said that her mother's notes were in her room, and he definitely wasn't indifferent to that.

Halfway there, he chanced to look up and froze. His own face stared back at him from the ceiling of the room above. The likeness was so good that he thought it must be some strange sort of mirror, except that the picture didn't move when he did. He darted past Luna to see what it was and understood. It wasn't a mirror . Luna had decorated the ceiling of her bedroom with portraits of Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville. This was the project she had told him about. The portraits didn't contain any of the ordinary enchantments. They didn't move or speak. But they seemed half-magical in their own way. They seemed to breathe, and Harry half expected them to come alive at any moment. What appeared to be fine golden chains wove around the pictures, linking them together, but on closer inspection, Harry realized that the chains were actually one word, repeated a thousand times in golden ink: _friends... friends... friends..._

A dozen emotions tumbled through Harry at once, with pity, discomfort and affection warring for dominance. He remembered how Luna had said the DA was "like having friends." In retrospect, he ought to have done something about that: held more meetings, introduced her to his housemates who were least likely to be perturbed by her strange theories. But he'd been so caught up in Malfoy and the Half-Blood Prince and Quidditch and Horcruxes that he hadn't really thought about it. He knew what it was like to be alone and friendless, but Luna had fought at his side a year ago. Surely someone would've wanted to get to know her better, if only for their own selfish reasons? Obviously not. So she had chosen to memorialize the five of them instead. The thought made him shiver.

Luna came to stand beside him. "I hope it's a good enough likeness," she said airily. "I was working from memory."

"It's very good," Harry said quickly and searched for something else to look at.

The rest of Luna's bedroom was surprisingly normal. Ordinary pale blue carpet, ordinary writing desk, ordinary four poster bed, ordinary nightstand adorned with pictures. Luna smiled and went to her desk and opened the topmost drawer. "I'm glad you think so, but I know you didn't come here to talk about my art." She withdrew an impressive stack of parchment, bound together with a black silk ribbon. The handwriting was small and cramped, and the pages were filled with strange abbreviations and words that might or might not have been foreign. They made his head hurt just looking at them.

"Any idea what this does?" he asked helplessly as he put the papers to one side.

She shrugged, and her expression grew solemn. "As I said, I think it's some sort of tracking spell, but I'm not sure. Be very careful, Harry. I know Gryffindors like to be reckless, but try to be reckless only when you don't have any other choice."

What was he supposed to say to that? Harry blushed and turned aside, feigning interest in the photographs on the nightstand. There were the two of them. In the first, a young Luna hugged a woman who was obviously her mother. The woman looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties, and she resembled Luna strongly, with the same ash blonde hair and overly large gray eyes.

The second photograph was a formal portrait. A young woman sat perched on a high-backed wooden chair. She could have passed for Luna's identical twin. She was not beautiful, but there was an icy regality that drew his eye. This was the sort of girl who expected worship and got it. She was dressed in Hogwarts robes of the style of fifty years ago, and her green and silver tie looked tight enough to choke her. The Head Girl badge had been carefully pinned to her breast. She twisted a plain gold band on the ring finger of her left hand.

Harry stared. "Your mum was in Slytherin?" He'd never thought much about what houses Luna's parents had been in, but he'd assumed that they were both eccentric Ravenclaws. He had a hard time picturing any Slytherin being willing to marry the editor of the _Quibbler._

Luna frowned. "Class of '45. She was Caroline Rosier then. I don't think she liked Hogwarts all that much. She hardly ever spoke of her school days, and I don't really know anyone from my mother's side of the family."

"Just as well. I know Evan Rosier ended up a Death Eater." Luna should never have to associate with people like that. Caroline Lovegood had probably thought so, too. He pointed at the ring. "At least she'd already met your dad."

Luna suddenly seemed to find her shoes very interesting. "That wasn't my dad. She was engaged to another boy while she was at Hogwarts. It didn't work out. He turned out to be not as nice as she thought." She exhaled. "I suppose I should be grateful, since I wouldn't be here, otherwise."

"Er, right." Harry shifted from foot to foot. He was the only person he knew who could pry by complete accident. "I'll just be going, shall I?"

"Don't go," Luna whispered. "I haven't given you your gift yet."

"Gift? What gift?"

Luna placed one hand in her pocket. "Something so you can keep your promise. Hold out your hand and close your eyes. It's an early birthday present, in case I don't see you again, and I don't want to spoil the surprise."

Harry hadn't closed his eyes and held out his hand for anything since he was seven years old, but it seemed the least he could do after he'd forced her to recall an obviously unpleasant memory. So he obeyed without protest. The only sound was Luna's soft breathing. She took his outstretched hand in one of hers and placed something smooth and hard in his palm and closed his fingers around it. "You can open your eyes now."

Harry opened his eyes and unfolded his hand to reveal … a rock. He stared stupidly at it. Luna was watching him solemnly, as if she'd just given him the Philosopher's Stone. It wasn't like her to take pleasure in belittling others. There had to be something special about this stone. Harry turned it over in his palm. There was a crudely carved rune that he couldn't decipher on the back. Other than that, it seemed to be an ordinary skipping stone. He gave up. "What is it?"

"It's a Dreaming Stone."

"A what?"

"A Dreaming Stone," she said again, as if they were as common and self-explanatory as cauldrons. "It lets you see into a person's dreams and communicate with them. One of the _Quibbbler_ readers sent it in. Daddy says it's the most important magical invention since broomsticks."

Harry thought it hardly likely that anyone who had invented something that powerful would have sent it in to the _Quibbler,_ but she was so miserable that he didn't say anything. Instead, he asked, "How's it supposed to work?"

"Put this stone under your pillow before you go to sleep and think of the person whose dreams you want to enter. When you fall asleep, you'll be in their dreams. Daddy says he hasn't been able to get it to work properly because of his sleep apnea, but I'm sure you'll have better luck."

"Thank you," he said with as much solemnity as he could manage. At least he was absolved of his promise. He'd dutifully put it under his pillow once or twice. She could hardly fault him if it failed to work, and he wouldn't have to worry about Luna or anyone else being captured by the Death Eaters because of him.

"You're welcome." She smiled sadly. "You had better go. Mrs. Weasley will be wondering where you are."


	2. Flesh and Fire

Harry watched with eager eyes as Ron re-entered the tent. It had been a week since they had stolen back Slytherin's locket from Umbridge; and, more importantly, a week since Harry had had a decent meal. His stomach had progressed from loud growls to a dull, throbbing ache. It was Ron's turn to head down to the village and try to steal some food. Harry hoped he had brought back something good. Like steak and kidney pie. Piping hot steak and kidney pie.

But Ron's expression was as glum as Hermione's had been the night before. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a box of animal crackers. "Sorry. This was the best I could do. Stupid Muggles and their security cameras."

The locket felt cold and clammy against his skin. Harry twisted the chain around his finger. "We've bloody broken into the Ministry twice now. How hard can it be to steal food? Tell me that."

Ron shrugged. "You're no better at it than I am. Be glad I got this much. We're just not cut out for life on the run."

Hermione patted his shoulder and took the animal crackers from him. "Harry knows you did your best, don't you Harry?" Harry glared at her, and she cleared her throat. "Anyway, we might as well divide it up." She tore open the package and took out a cracker. "One for me. One for Ron. One for Harry. One for me..." She went on and on like that. It reminded him of a particularly macabre kindergarten sharing exercise. They ate in silence, and Harry tried to pretend that graham crackers tasted like kidney pie. It didn't work.

"So, where are we going to look tomorrow?" Ron asked when they had finished. "I reckon we've looked everywhere old You-Know-Who might have wanted to put a Horcrux."

"Except Hogwarts," muttered Harry.

Hermione shook her head and regarded him with such pity that Harry wanted to wrap his hand around her throat and squeeze. "I know there are some superficial similarities between you, but he isn't you. You're the one who would be happy to stay at Hogwarts for the rest of your life. Riddle only wanted the Defense job because he'd have access to impressionable children he could mold. Besides, if there was a Horcrux at Hogwarts, Dumbledore would have found it."

Harry scowled. Hermione didn't understand. No one did. They didn't have Voldemort running around their head at inopportune moments. They hadn't fought him face-to-face twice. They weren't the Chosen One. He knew Voldemort better than anyone. He couldn't say how it had escaped notice, but Harry was certain Voldemort had placed a Horcrux at Hogwarts. He would have staked his life on it. "Any progress on deciphering Mrs. Lovegood's notes?" he asked sourly.

"Very little." Hermione said. "Not to speak ill of the dead, but her handwriting was dreadful. I think it was something to tell how many soul fragments of someone remained."

Harry brought a hand to his forehead. He had told Luna about their mission for nothing? "We already know that. There are four. Five if you count Vol--"

"Please, don't say that name," Hermione said. "And we don't know. He might have made more after he found out you destroyed the diary or he might never have gotten around to making all seven."

"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"

Ron popped a last cracker into his mouth. "I still think we're going about it backwards. We ought to be searching for ways to destroy the Horcruxes before we start tracking them down."

"Dumbledore meant for us to have the sword. We would have had it if Scrimingeour hadn't been such a prick."

Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "Harry, Scrimingeour died to --"

"-- save me?" Harry finished with a bitter laugh. "Doesn't make him any less of a prick." Something icy snaked around Harry's heart. Yes, Scrimingeour had been a bastard. Umbridge wasn't an official Death Eater, but she was most certainly a monster. Not that the rest of the world was any better. He remembered the nauseatingly pink pamphlets extolling the dangers of Mudbloods the team of witches and wizards had been working on in the mass of people who have passed the MAGIC IS MIGHT statue without so much as looking up. Mary Cattermole had begged for her life, and no one had moved to help her. She would have been thrown in Azkaban -- or worse -- if he hadn't been there. The world was full of parasites and cowards. If he had any sense, he wouldn't be risking his life for such people. Maybe he ought to just leave them to their fates and spend the rest of his life on a beach in Nice. He heard it was lovely in the Riviera this time of year.

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't allow himself to think such thoughts, couldn't allow the locket to whisper them in his ear. It was his job to fight Voldemort and no one else's. He could hardly expect people who never did anything more strenuous than cheer at a Quidditch match to act like trained Aurors. "Sorry," he whispered, "but we still don't have the sword."

"But, mate, the sword can't be the only way to destroy a Horcrux. I mean, the only reason it works is because of the basilisk venom." Ron's face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "That's it! All we have to do is get our hands on some basilisk venom! I bet there's a shop in Knockturn Alley that sells it. They sell everything else that's Dark."

"That won't work." Harry had heard that tone of voice many times before. Hermione had always used it when she was attempting to explain some obscure point of magical theory for the tenth time. "We'd have to use Polyjuice Potion, and we can't afford to stay in one place long enough to brew it. Besides, I doubt any of the shops carry the venom. Not counting the one in the Chamber, the last confirmed basilisk in England died centuries ago." It was Hermione's turn to brighten. "Though the fangs in the Chamber would still be usable. We'd have to go back to Hogwarts -- or get someone to smuggle them out for us."

"Well, if we can't even go to Knockturn Alley, we damn well can't sneak into Hogwarts."

"Which leaves the smuggling."

"Who would we get to do the smuggling? The DA is loyal, sure, but they'd have to get into the Chamber. The only people who know how to speak Parseltongue are Harry and maybe --" Ron broke off and stared at Hermione, who nodded slowly. He blanched. "I'm not bringing Ginny into this. I'd die first."

Harry looked between them. "What does Ginny have to do with this? She can't speak Paseltongue."

"She gets... flashbacks sometimes of the things that happened in her first year. I've heard her wake up screaming more than once. Sometimes she hisses during her nightmares. It's possible that she may remember enough to open the Chamber and get some of the venom to us."

"She never told me about it. I thought she didn't remember much at all." They hadn't done much talking during the three weeks that they were together, but Ginny would have told him about it at some point. Granted, he hadn't responded well when she had mentioned it in fifth year, but surely she had forgiven him for that. "But I agree with Ron. I won't ask her or anyone else I care about to be put in danger. This is our fight."

Hermione muttered something under her breath, but Ron clapped him on the back. "You've got that right. So, basilisk venom is out. Anything else we can use?"

"Dumbledore thought one of the Horcruxes was Naigini, right? An animal that stores a Horcrux is still an animal and just as easy to kill. No special magic required."

"That'd be great to know if we weren't lugging around a very much inanimate locket."

"Pardon me for trying to be helpful." Hermione bit her lip. "There's the Fiendfyre Charm," she said slowly.

"What the bloody hell is the Fiendfyre Charm, and why haven't you mentioned it before?"

Hermione dug into her bag and pulled out one of the books from Dumbledore's office. It seemed like an ordinary leather-bound book, but looking at it made Harry feel cold and sick. She flicked through the pages and found what she wanted. "Fiendfyre can destroy any substance upon contact. It bypasses Flame-Freezing Charms. An object destroyed by Fiendfyre cannot be reconstituted even by magical means."

Harry stared at her. "You've known about a spell that we could have used to blast this locket to bits the day we got it, and you never told me? I went through all this for _nothing?"_

Hermione glanced at the ground before returning her gaze to Harry. "In the Founders time, it was said that a wizard who cast the Fiendfyre Charm conjured the very fires of Hell. According to the book, twenty-two European wizards killed themselves misusing Fiendfyre in the first half of the twentieth century alone. It's that difficult to control."

"But you know the incantation?" After a long moment, Hermione nodded. "Then do it."

"But Harry..."

Harry yanked the locket off and threw it to the ground. "I said do it!" He was sick of the cold, clammy weight on his chest, sick of feeling like he couldn't quite breathe every time he put the locket around his neck. If Hermione had to burn down a whole forest to destroy the Horcrux, so be it."

"I'm with Hermione. It's too dangerous. We'll find another way."

Harry rounded on him. "And you call yourselves Gryffindors. No one made you come. You volunteered. If you two are going to back down the first time you have to take a risk, go home to your families right now, I can manage fine on my own."

The light went out of Hermione's eyes. "I don't have a family anymore, remember? I sent them away to help you." She picked up the locket and shivered. "If we're really going to do this, I suggest we step outside. Less chance of the tent going up in flames."

"What? I thought you just said that it was too dangerous."

She sighed. "None of us are ever going to see our families -- or anyone else we care about -- until You-Know-Who is dead. Maybe Harry is right and we do have to take the risk. If it means I can go back to my parents five minutes sooner..."

Ron's hand hovered over Hermione shoulder before falling limply to his side. "Lead on, then." Harry tried very hard not to smirk. Soon, half the Horcruxes would be destroyed. He would be home by Christmas. Ginny would rush into his arms and everyone else would congratulate him on being so brave and self-sacrificing. Merlin knew he deserved it.

They scrambled out of the tent. Their hiding place tonight was a Royal Forest somewhere in Cumberland. They hiked for perhaps a quarter of a mile until they came to a clearing and Hermione held her hand up for them to a halt. She placed the locket on the ground. "Stand well back, both of you." Harry and Ron both stepped back. Hermione screwed her eyes shut and drew her wand. _"Infernus!"_

For a moment, there was only a roaring, billowing noise, and Harry was afraid that the spell had failed. Then a jet of flame larger than any he had ever seen shot from the wand. Harry and Ron shielded their eyes against the light, and Harry could feel the heat on his skin even at this distance. There was no further sound, and he finally dared to look. A fiery dragon hovered a foot above the ground, flames rippling down its body. Harry had never seen anything as terrible -- or as beautiful.

Ron was not as awestruck." Shouldn't in be going after the locket instead of standing there?"

Hermione didn't turn around. "I'm trying. It's not responding. I'm not sure why it's so still. Fiendfyre naturally goes for the nearest source of --"

Hermione screamed. Time slowed, and Harry stood rooted to the spot, helpless to do anything but watch as the dragon lunged for her. She instinctively put up an arm to defend herself. Ron charged forward with a yell and tackled her out of its path. He wasn't quite fast enough. The tip of one wing grazed her left hand. Hermione screamed again, and Ron grabbed her to keep her from collapsing to her knees. Something broke inside Harry. He had never meant for Hermione to get hurt. He had only wanted the locket to stop plaguing them all. No, he had wanted it to stop bothering him. Ron and Hermione hadn't even entered into it. And now they were both going to die because of his stupid, stupid pride.

The dragon rounded on them again. Ron couldn't dodge it a second time and still protect Hermione. There was nothing Harry could do. Unless... Harry drew his own wand, shut his eyes, and silently begged whoever might be listening for forgiveness and a lucky break. If this didn't work, the dragon would kill him as well. Maybe he deserved it. _"Finite Incantatum!"_ he bellowed.

He waited for the inevitable screams and smell of burning flesh. The roar died away, and Harry dared to open his eyes. Ron was kneeling on the ground, Hermione in his arms. The dragon was gone. Harry exhaled and darted toward them. "I -- it worked! I stopped the dragon! He leaned forward to envelop them both in a hug.

Ron shoved him away and glared at him with such pure hatred that Harry took an involuntary step back and hung his head. "It's only because of you that that thing attacked us in the first place. Look at what you've done to her." Harry didn't dare look up. "Look!"

This time Harry did as he was told and felt bile rise in his throat. The flesh on the back of her hand was white. Not the ordinary sort of white, either, but the same color as Voldemort's skin. Red blisters encircled the injury. The back of her hand didn't even look like it had human skin anymore. It looked like dry leather. The fire hadn't burned Hermione; it had charred her.

Ron picked Hermione up and carried her back to the tent. Harry followed behind them in a daze. A numb horror enveloped him, and he could only watch as Ron laid Hermione on top of one of the sleeping bags. Her eyes were glassy with pain, but at least she was still conscious. Ron knelt over her. He took off his jacket, balled it up, and stuck it under her head as an extra pillow. "I'll get you through this. Promise."

Harry didn't see how Ron could be so confident. Neither of them had any skill at medical magic. Harry could barely mend a broken nose, and that had to be a third-degree burn. Ron Hermione needed a Healer. St. Mungo's was out of the question. Wanted posters with their photos were probably in the waiting room, and Harry had the funny feeling that Healer-patient confidentiality didn't mean much when the Death Eaters were beating down your door.

"Water," Hermione whispered. "Helps replenish fluids. Bandages good, too."

"You heard the lady. Take care of the water. I'll manage the bandages." He drew his wand and muttered something. A stack of clean linen bandages appeared at his feet. He picked them up and began wrapping them around Hermione's hand. She hissed. "Sorry. I'm doing the best I can." He turned to Harry. "I thought I asked for some water!" he shouted.

His anger was enough to rouse Harry from his stupor. He Transfigured a Knut in his pocket into a bronze-colored ceramic mug and magically filled it with water. His hand shook as he cast the spell, and some of the water poured onto his trainers instead. Harry cursed as the icy liquid hit him but dutifully passed the mug to Ron. He accepted it wordlessly, and held it to Hermione's lips. "Slow sips now. Take it easy."

She drank. "Thank you."

Harry figured the sound Ron made was supposed to be a laugh, but it didn't sound like one. "Remember that next time you call me -- how did it go again? -- 'an insensitive, chauvinistic troglodyte.'" He shook his head. "I shouldn't have let you cast the spell. And I bet we didn't even get the locket." He looked up sharply. "Where is the locket anyway? Did you at least remember to pick it up?"

"I thought you had it. Last I saw of it was... in the forest," Harry finished lamely.

"Wonderful. Not only are you an insensitive jerk, you're an incompetent, insensitive jerk. I'd be safer with Lucius Malfoy. Hell, I'd probably be better off with Bellatrix!"

"I'll go get it. You can stay with Hermione." Yes, Harry should be the one to go. He certainly couldn't bear looking at Hermione at the moment.

Hermione's eyes flickered to Ron. "No. I'll be fine. Go with Harry." She whimpered, and it was a long time before she spoke again. "I don't think he should be alone right now."

"But --"

"Go. Please."

Ron sighed but scrambled to his feet. "Come on." He half-led, half-dragged Harry out of the tent. They walked together in silence. Harry felt like a murderer walking to the gallows. Ron probably wouldn't kill him for what he had done. Harry was the Chosen One, and Chosen Ones usually didn't get murdered by their best friends. The prophecy hadn't said that Voldemort was the only one who could beat him to a bloody pulp with his bare fists or torture him until he made Frank Longbottom look functional by comparison. From the expression on Ron's face, it looked like both of those options were still on the table. But no curses or punches came and they reached the clearing without either of them speaking a word. Something golden glittered in the moonlight.

Harry picked up the locket from where it still lay on the ground. After all they have gone through, the Fiendfyre hadn't even destroyed the Horcrux. Hermione had been maimed for nothing. "You made me do this," he whispered. "I never would have put her in danger if I hadn't been wearing you."

"One problem with that, mate," Ron said. His voice was like the grating of metal on metal. "You weren't wearing it when she cast the spell. That was all you."

Harry hung his head. It was true. Even if the Horcrux had spurred on his actions tonight, it hadn't been influencing them when Hermione had actually cast the spell. He could have stopped her. He should have stopped her. He had always believed himself to be a basically decent person. He hadn't even been able to _Crucio_ Bellatrix right after she had killed Sirius. Granted, he had left Draco lying in a pool of his own blood, but it wasn't like the bastard didn't deserve it. For the first time, he considered he might be wrong. It wasn't like he was on this quest because he was better or nobler than anyone else. He was here because his mother had died to save him. Perhaps Harry wasn't as heroic as he had always imagined.

Ron snatched the locket from his hands. "I think I'll take that for a while. It's obvious you're not up to handling it." He put it around his own neck and marched in the direction of the tent, not waiting for Harry to follow. By the time they got back to camp, Hermione had succumbed to a fitful slumber punctuated by the occasional moan or whimper. Her breathing came in hoarse, but regular pants. Harry chose to take that as a good sign. He had no idea what the extent of her injuries was, but she probably wouldn't die because of the Fiendfyre. Because of him.

Ron sat beside Hermione and pulled his knees to his chest. "You might as well get some sleep. You've done enough for one night."

"I didn't mean to hurt her. I only wanted the locket gone. I thought I had a shot, and I went crazy."

"I know," Ron said quietly. "But you still did it. Go to sleep before I decide giving you what you deserve is more important than defeating You-Know-Who."

Harry climbed inside his own sleeping bag and pulled the cover back. Tonight's disaster had exhausted him and sweat plastered his clothes to his back. Sleep was out at the question. The locket was on the other side of the tent with Ron, but in the silence Harry imagined that he could still hear Voldemort's voice whispering in his ear. _Fool,_ it said, _Why do you fight me? We are the same, you and I. Quite willing to destroy our "friends" to achieve our goal. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?_

No. He was nothing like Voldemort. Dumbledore had always emphasized that he and Riddle were opposites in every way that mattered. Harry possessed true friendship and the capacity for love. Voldemort had servants and was incapable of understanding anything besides fear or hatred. Tonight had been nothing more than an aberration brought on by hunger, desperation, and proximity to the locket. That was all.

_So certain of that, are we? I always knew you were a fool. Hermione was burned because you wanted her to be. If she's injured, Weasley might decide to take her home and leave you alone to do this properly_

"They're my friends," Harry whispered weakly.

High, cold laughter sounded inside his head. _Friends? They are only slowing you down. They can't even forage properly. Weasley hasn't done anything except complain. Granger has her books and spells, but you've always been clever. Lazy, but clever. With a bit of study, you'll be able to hide and protect the tent on your own. Without them, you could search at Hogwarts at your leisure. Let them go back to their safe little lives._

Yes, it would be best for them to leave. He might go mad again, and one of them could be seriously injured next time. The voice was right. He did not really need Ron or Hermione. He was the Chosen One, not them. Either he or Voldemort must die at the hand of the other. The final battle would be between the two of them alone. However much he loved them, Ron and Hermione would be ultimately irrelevant.

_Lord Voldemort's gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust._ Dumbledore's voice was soft and Harry felt a strange warmth spiral through him. He was stronger than Voldemort. Harry merely had to summon the strength to tell him to go "Shut up! I will listen to you. Ron and Hermione are the best weapons I have. I'm not leaving them, and I'll never hurt Hermione again!"

_Still listening to that old fool? I would have thought Rita's article would have taught you better. Very well, I shall leave -- for now. But make no mistake, Harry: I will return. And I will prove to you that we are exactly alike._


	3. The Dreaming Stone

Then there was only silence, both in his mind and in the tent. Ron and Hermione were both sound asleep. Lucky them. Harry knew he wouldn't sleep tonight. He felt as if someone had shattered him into a thousand pieces, and then scattered the pieces to the four winds. Voldemort's words still echoed in his mind. He didn't understand what had happened. This hadn't felt like possession. He'd felt in control of himself the whole time. The locket was on the other side of the room and safely closed, so it wasn't communicating with him. Had Voldemort himself been spying on Harry somehow or other? Had urging Hermione to perform Dark magic created an opening for him to slip into Harry's mind?

No. The voice had been Voldemort's, but it hadn't sounded like him. The voice had wanted to corrupt Harry. Voldemort didn't want Harry to become a Dark wizard. That would have merely created a powerful rival in his battle for supremacy over Britain. He wanted Harry dead. Harry wondered who his tempter was. He—or she, or it—had said they would return. Harry shivered. He'd barely resisted this time.

He wished Ginny were here. She always knew exactly what to say. Ginny would explain to him how what he had done wasn't nearly as terrible as he thought it was, and there was still some way to make this right. She wouldn't grant him absolution, but she would remind him that absolution was possible. She would tell him how best to combat the voice in his head. She would bring some much-needed light to him. But Ginny was hundreds of miles away, in Scotland.

Perhaps that wasn't as big an obstacle as it appeared. He sat up gingerly and dug the Dreaming Stone out of his rucksack. He'd packed it on a whim; it was small, one of the few mementos of his friends he could easily carry with him while he hunted for Horcruxes. It was probably a fake, but what if it wasn't? The Quibbler wasn't always wrong. Mr. Lovegood had been the only person willing to print the true story of Voldemort's return. If the Dreaming Stone did what Luna claimed it would, he could speak to Ginny. He knew it was a faint, foolish hope, but he was desperate for some form of comfort. He put the stone under his pillow and whispered Ginny's name.

The magic of the Dreaming Stone must have included a charm to put him to sleep because the next thing he knew, he was standing at the back of the Transfiguration classroom. A dozen students, their outlines slightly blurred, were hunched over their desks, writing madly. McGonagall, equally as hazy and looking more severe than Harry remembered ever seeing her, scrutinized their every movement. No one in the room took any notice of him. There was no sign of Ginny.

"Five minutes," McGonagall called, "and remember the essay portion of this test should be at least three feet in length or you will receive a T, and you will be expelled and your wand snapped."

It was only then that he noticed that one of the girls was more clearly defined than the rest. It was Luna. She twisted her dirty blonde hair around her finger. "I'll never finish in time," she said calmly. Heedless of McGonagall's glare, she retrieved a book from her bag and began to read.

Harry stood, watching her. He was dreaming; that much was clear, but he knew he was dreaming, which hardly ever happened. Was this the influence of the Dreaming Stone? If it was, then where was Ginny? He walked among the desks. The other students remained oblivious. Now that he was close to them, he could see that their faces were as blurry as the rest of their bodies. Harry shivered.

Luna's head went up, as if she'd heard something. She closed her book and turned around to look in his direction. She paled, and her eyes went wider than normal. "Harry?" she breathed.

"Luna? You can see me? What's going on? I used the stone like you said, and—"

He cut off. Luna threw herself out of the chair and ran towards him. She threw her arms around him, hugged him close, and buried her face in his shoulder. "You're here," she whispered.

He patted her on the back awkwardly. "Yeah, I'm here."

Luna looked up at him, studying his face. After a moment, she seemed satisfied that he was indeed there and stepped back. "Nobody at school has seen you since the wedding, and then there were rumors that you'd broken into the Ministry. We didn't know whether you were alive or dead."

He smiled weakly. "Still breathing." His tone grew serious. "Where are we?"

"I was having a dream about a test I hadn't studied for. You interrupted."

"So, we're in _your_ dream?" She nodded. "So the Dreaming Stone does work. Where's Ginny? I was thinking of her. I'm very glad to see you, though," he added quickly.

"Thank you, Harry." She beamed at him with such intensity that he shifted under her gaze. "I don't know how you ended up here. Maybe you can only enter the dreams of the person who gave you the stone?" She clapped her hands together. "That must be it. I can't wait to tell Daddy. This is going in next month's issue."

Harry nodded. It made as much sense as anything else. Luna might not have been who he was planning to see tonight, but she was a good friend, and he found himself surprisingly glad to see her. Still, one thing puzzled him. "You know you're in a dream. Is the stone doing that, too?"

She grinned and shook her head. "That's all me. The Muggles call it lucid dreaming. I can do more than that, though. Watch." She scrunched her face in concentration. The desks, students, and McGonagall all vanished, and the classroom ceiling transformed to open sky. He found himself standing on an unfamiliar hilltop. The grass was a bright, vivid green of the sort that Harry had never seen outside of travel brochures that Vernon had occasionally brought home. At the bottom of the hill, the ground was carpeted with blue flowers. The sun warmed his face, while a light breeze ruffled his hair.

"Where are we? What happened to Hogwarts?"

"Oh, we're still in my dreams." She smiled. "They do say that you can go anywhere you want in your imagination. I happen to take it more literally than most. Right now, we're just outside the village of Glocca Morra, in Ireland. My father took me here with him on an expedition just after my mother died. I think he was trying to distract me."

He hated it when she was like this, when she mentioned things that ought to be sad in such a matter-of-fact way. He never knew whether he was supposed to say he was sorry or ignore it. So he went with the safe option and said nothing.

She tilted her head sideways. "You look dreadful. Are the Horcruxes affecting you? I did try to warn you that they were dangerous. I didn't mean to the body."

"Maybe." He gulped. Luna appeared to be the only source of comfort or consolation that he was going to receive. If he was going to tell someone else about the Fiendfyre incident, it would have to be her. He had no idea how she would react. She could be so dogmatic when she thought someone was wrong and she was right. On the other hand, she had been so grateful to have him as a friend that she had memorialized him with a life-sized portrait of his face. Perhaps she would understand. It was worth the risk. "I accidentally hurt Hermione. We found one of the Horcruxes, but we don't have a way to destroy it. Hermione mentioned Fiendfyre, but she told me was it was too dangerous to use." He sat down on the grass. "I made her do it anyway. She burned her hand pretty badly. Ron's furious with me."

She watched him without speaking, and Harry's gut give an unfamiliar twist. He recognized the look on her face. He had seen it when she held forth on her theories about Snorkacks or goblins being baked into pies to some of the more sympathetic Hufflepuffs. Luna pitied him. Loony Lovegood pitied the putative Chosen One. There was something else in her eyes, and Harry recognized that, too. Disappointment. She reminded him of Dumbledore when Harry had told him that he hadn't been able to retrieve Slughorn's memory. And yet she said nothing, just stared at him. Harry wished she would rage and rail at him. He would have known how to deal with that.

"That was very wrong of you," she said at last. "Hermione could have incinerated everything within five miles. What are you going to do to make things right?"

"Not much I can do. Ron's already patched Hermione up."

"I find an apology is always a good first step. You have to be truly sorry, though, not just upset that Ron's angry with you. You are sorry?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course I'm sorry."

She smiled, but it was the smile of someone older and sadder than Luna had any right to be. "I'm glad. That's always the first step. But it isn't enough. You need to do something tangible to help heal the harm that you've caused." She thought for a minute. "I suppose you could Transfigure Hermione into a rock. Temporarily, of course."

"That's crazy! Why would I want to do something like that?" Harry backed up slowly. The Dreaming Stone was obviously making Luna completely cracked. If only he could remember the way out of here...

"Not really. Healers used to Transfigure people into inanimate objects when they were gravely injured and there wasn't enough time to get to the proper treatment or the proper supplies weren't on hand. Since objects don't have organs like we do, that meant the injury temporarily vanished as well. It bought the patient much-needed time."

Well, that made sense. A twisted and bizarre sort of sense that Harry preferred not to think about, but sense. "I don't think Hermione's quite that bad off. Got any less drastic suggestions?"

"Well, you could get some essence of merkleaf from an apothecary. That's good for burns."

"I'm a fugitive. I can't just waltz in and buy it."

Her sad smile was suddenly genuinely amused. "But you have an Invisibility Cloak."

Harry stared at her. Luna couldn't be suggesting what he thought she was suggesting. "I never thought you'd approve of stealing."

"Oh, it isn't stealing."

Harry frowned. "It isn't? I'm taking something without paying for it. I don't even have the money to pay for it. How is that not stealing?"

"Stealing isn't just taking something that doesn't belong to you. It's taking something against the reasonable will of the rightful owner. No reasonable person could object to you helping Hermione. Therefore, taking the essence of merkleaf isn't stealing."

Harry doubted that kind of reasoning would hold water at the Wizenagomot, but he was too desperate to care. "I guess I should be going, then."

"You should. I'll send you back in a moment." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come back when you're done and tell me if it helped."

"I will." Before Harry had time to do anything else, he found himself wide awake in his own sleeping bag.

Ron and Hermione were asleep on the opposite side of the tent. He wouldn't be missed. Harry crept outside as quietly as he could manage. The sky was dark and clouded, and he could barely see his hand in front of his face. The shops in Diagon Alley would all be closed. The streets would be nearly deserted. That presented its own set of problems. There would be little noise to cover the sound of Apparition. If anyone was out, they would hear him. He might as well set off fireworks to announce his arrival. He had to Apparate somewhere that was within walking distance of Diagon Alley, yet still uninhabited. No easy task.

Or he could simply Apparate to Diagon Alley. The answer came quickly and suddenly, as if it had been tucked in his brain by some higher power. Fred and George's joke shop was filled with things that made loud noises for no apparent reason No one would investigate if he popped in there. Harry drew the cloak around his body and set off.

Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was oddly cheerless at night. It was as if someone had sapped the color from the room, leaving it dull and lifeless. Fred and George slept in rooms on the first floor, but the shop itself was silent and he couldn't hear them moving about above him. The shelves seemed fuller than they had a year ago. Either people had no money to buy joke items, or the war had destroyed their sense of humor.

Harry crept out of the shop. He scarcely recognized Diagon Alley, even accounting for the time of night. There wasn't a light on from one end of the street to another, but in the dim light he could see a dozen boarded up windows. The air smelled of refuse and sweat. Dark figures huddled in side streets. Merlin, did people sleep here? There must be hundreds of people left homeless thanks to Umbridge and her laws.

_Not your problem. Get what you came for and get out._ Harry nodded. The misery of these people might be horrible, but it was nothing to what they would face if the Death Eaters continued wreaking havoc. He couldn't help them if he were captured. Beneath the cloak, Harry covered his mouth and nose and tried to ignore the smell.

The apothecary's stall was wedged between a cauldron shop and Alberdon's Animals for All Ages. Dozens of small glass bottles with peeling labels stood on the counter. The scent of dried herbs clung to the air. It was enough to overwhelm Harry even with his nose covered. At least the smell was making the vagrants keep their distance.

Harry squinted and attempted to read the labels, but it was no use. It was too dark. He would have to use _Lumos_ and hope no one noticed the light until after he had already grabbed the merkleaf. If they hadn't... Harry dismissed the thought. He had come too far to be denied now. He owed Hermione this much. He stuck his wand out from beneath the cloak and whispered the spell. The bottles were bathed in a pale light. Harry tensed, ready to fight. But no one came to investigate. He found the merkleaf and Apparated away with a _crack._ Someone probably would hear that, but that was no matter. They could not see him. They could not trace him. His luck had changed at last.

Ron sat when he re-entered the tent. "Harry?" he muttered sleepily. "What are you doing up?"

Harry withdrew the bottle with a flourish. "Making up for being a twit." He knelt beside Hermione. Her skin was ashen, and sweat had plastered her hair to her scalp. "I need you to wake up now," he said softly.

She stirred. "What's that?"

"Essence of merkleaf. It's supposed to be good for burns. I'm going to rub some on your hand."

Ron snapped to full attention. "Merkleaf? That's brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?" He took the bottle from Harry. "Let me put it on."

Harry shrugged. As long as Hermione got help, it didn't matter who put it on. Hermione's eyes were glazed with pain, but her gaze never once left Ron's face. Harry smiled and lay down again. He had promised Luna, after all.

The dreamscape had not changed at all when he returned. Luna sat on the grass, staring dreamily into the distance. "Did it help?" she asked without turning around.

"I think so." He dropped down beside her. "For Hermione, anyway. I don't know what could keep Voldemort's voice out of my head."

Luna flinched. "His voice?"

He told her what Voldemort's voice had said and how Dumbledore's memory had finally been able to drive it out, at least temporarily. "But why now? He hasn't tried to possess me in a year and a half. Dumbledore said he was practicing Occlumency against me. I didn't think our connection could ever hurt me again."

"Well, browbeating someone into using Dark magic definitely sounds like something he would do. Perhaps you gave him an opening."

I hope not." He'd forced Hermione to cast the spell because he was frustrated, desperate, and under the influence of the locket. None of those things looked as if they were changing anytime soon. "I just wish I could catch a break. I wasn't ever supposed to be carrying around Horcruxes. Dumbledore gave me the Sword of Gryffindor so I could destroy them as I found them, but Scrimgeour wouldn't let me have it. Little rat," he muttered under his breath.

"Don't speak ill of the dead. They can't defend themselves. I'll definitely let you know if I ever run across the sword, though. It's probably at the school somewhere."

"You do that." Not that it would help much. To get into Hogwarts he'd need either Polyjuice Potion or a very, very big distraction. He'd have to trust that Fate would somehow provide the sword or he would have to find some other means of destroying the locket. "At the moment, I'm stuck with a Deluminator, a Snitch, and a book of fairy tales and no clue what to do with any of them or what they have to do with Horcruxes."

Luna brightened. "Oh, I love fairy tales! What book do you have?"

"Hermione inherited a copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ from Dumbledore. It's got to be the weirdest gift of the bunch. I mean, I can sort of see how a Deluminator might be useful, but a kids' book?"

Luna didn't seem to hear him. "Dad's very fond of the Beedle stories. Personally, I like the Muggle stories best."

"You know Muggle fairy tales?" Luna had always spent so much time talking about Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and the latest conspiracy theory that her father had dreamed up that Harry had always assumed everything she believed in was equally fantastical.

She nodded enthusiastically. "My gran gave me a book of fairy tales when I was small. I've memorized most of them." She smiled slightly. "And you, Harry? Do you like fairy tales? You remind me of some of the heroes, so I suppose it would be only natural."

Harry flushed. He tried to picture himself as a prince from one of the badly-animated cartoons his primary school teachers had occasionally shown in class. He wasn't anything like them. "I've never heard many fairy tales. All I know are bits and pieces." Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had seen to that. No nephew of theirs was going to read anything with magic in it.

"But—but I thought every child who grew up with Muggles knew these stories. I could understand Ron not knowing them, but how could you not know anything about Bearskin or The Princess and the Pea? Are you sure that you're not just having me on?" Harry shook his head. "Well, then, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we?" Her eyes lit up. "I know! I could tell you the stories at night when you visit me. What do you say?"

Harry thought it over. He wasn't terribly keen on hearing a bunch of children's stories, even—no, _especially_—from Luna. He'd outgrown them. On the other hand, Luna was his only contact with the outside world, and she was certain to be hurt if he said no. She might not come back. He'd be all alone with Ron, Hermione, and his thoughts. "All right."

She clapped her hands. "Excellent. It'll be just like Scheherazade and the Sultan. This'll be fun."

"Sha-hera-what?"

"I see I haven't begun your education a moment too soon. Come here and sit beside me." Luna sat down on the grass and stretched her legs out. Harry followed her, feeling very stupid as he did so. She cleared her throat and began:

"Once there was a great sultan whose kingdom stretched as far as the eye could see. He had a wife who he loved more than all his riches and all his power. But his wife did not love him and was unfaithful. When the sultan found out, he saw that he had no choice but to order his wife to be beheaded, in accordance with the law. But the sultan had gone mad in his grief and decided that all women were as wicked as the sultana had been. It would be better if the world were rid of all of them. And so he decided that every day he would marry a girl and strangle her the next morning, so they could not pollute his kingdom any further."

"That's ... please tell me the sultan dies at the end."

"Do you want the story or not?" Harry nodded reluctantly, and she continued. "The sultan's decree caused great horror and grief within the city. Maidens wept at the thought of becoming the sultan's new bride, and mothers trembled to think of what fate might await their daughters. The grand vizier was in charge of finding the sultan a wife every day and killing her the following morning. He knew the sultan was very wicked, but he dared not oppose his lawful lord.

"The grand vizier himself was the father of two daughters, of whom the elder was called Scheherazade, and the younger, Dinarzade. Dinarzade had no gifts of wit or beauty to set her apart from the other girls. Scheherazade, however, was as beautiful as she was wise. Her father had given her the best tutors in history, mathematics, literature, and all the sciences, and he could deny her nothing."

"Sounds like Hermione."

Luna glared at him. "Harry..."

"Sorry."

"What was I? Ah, yes. One day, Scheherazade went to the grand vizier and asked that he might grant her a favor. He promised to do so, for he knew that his daughter would only ask for that which was just and reasonable.

"'I am determined to end the sultan's barbarity,' she said. 'The people have lived in terror for too long.'

"'That would be a fine thing,' said the grand vizier. 'How do you propose to do it?'

"'You shall present me as the sultan's next wife.'

"The grand vizier was quite taken aback by this. 'Daughter, are you mad? You know what fate awaits the sultan's bride.'

"'Nevertheless, I am determined. If I die, I will have died gloriously. If I live, I will have done a great service to my country.'

"The grand vizier tried in vain to dissuade her, but Scheherazade held firm. And so, with a heavy heart, the grand vizier brought her to the sultan. The sultan was quite shocked that the grand vizier would present him with his own daughter, but his madness was such that he married her anyway.

"When they brought her into the chamber, Scheherazade asked if she might not have one final request since it was her last night alive. The sultan consented, and Dinarzade was brought to them. It was now about one o'clock in the morning. 'I wonder if your majesty would consent to me telling my sister a story, since it is the last one I shall ever tell her.' The sultan agreed, for he had been quite fond of tales in his younger days. So Scheherazade began. Her story stretched long into the night, and when the guards came to execute her at daybreak, she was only half done with her tale. The sultan waved the guards away, for he wanted to hear the end. Her execution was postponed one day, but after that, she was to be executed just as his other wives had been."

Harry found himself leaning forward and looking at Luna. "What happened? Was she executed? Did the sultan get what he deserved?"

"He—" A slow smile spread across Luna's face. "No, I don't think I'm going to tell you now. I'll tell you at the end."

"The end?"

"When you've either come back home, or I've run out of stories. Every night you use the stone, I'll tell you a story." She sobered. "That way I know that you're all right. And it will keep your mind off him."

"You have a deal." Loony Lovegood keeping him sane. The irony would have appalled him just a few months ago. Now, he was merely grateful.

"No, Harry. It isn't irony." She grinned at him. "I prefer to think of it as poetry."


End file.
